


Shaken, Not Wooed.

by epicallyducky



Category: Youtube RPF, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Septiplier - Freeform, bartender!jack, more drunk!septiplier ha, no actual stripping tho sorry, stripper!mark, this one's bad lol i can feel it, well actually mark's the only one getting drunk here, wet willies, wet willies?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicallyducky/pseuds/epicallyducky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack enjoyed his job.</p><p> <i>He really did.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaken, Not Wooed.

**Author's Note:**

> this
> 
>  
> 
> _is longer than i expected it to be_
> 
>  
> 
> for tumblr user rainbowblue13 uvu
> 
> HOPE YOU LIKE IT MAR-BABE
> 
> edit: this is for tumblr user kitty39949 as well uvu ily friend you're a tough cookie patootie and the soup angels love you to bits

“You _do_ know that I could see you staring, right?” Jack jumps in surprise at the sudden voice, almost dropping the glass he was wiping dry in his hand. He turns around only to see Mark leaning over the bar, flannel thrown over his shoulder and his upper body exposed for all the eyes to see; Jack tries not to let his eyes wander below past the other man’s neck.

The brunet laughs to brush off the thought, rolls his eyes, “You almost got dragged into the crowd, _again._ ” He sets the glass and rag down on the counter behind him and walks over to his friend. Mark scoffs, “As if they’re actually physically capable of doing that.” He brings up both of his arms to rest them on top of the counter, and Jack resists the urge to swallow when he sees them flex out of the corner of his eyes, choosing to glance around the near-empty bar instead. Felix was stacking chairs in one corner, his girlfriend –Marzia, was it? Jack couldn’t remember- waiting for him patiently while sitting on one of the tabletops. On the other side of the room the rest of their customers were leaving; most of them drunk, some of them acting like they were drunk but Jack assumed that’s just how they acted normally. _“Some people,”_ He thinks as one man trips and stumbles out the door after a fine-looking girl the man has been ogling at all night. Jack’s eyes land on Mark again, who is staring _quite_ intently at him with his eyebrows brought down together.

“What is it?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh, nothing; it’s nothing.” Mark shakes his head, eyes flickering to the side. He straightens and begins to turn as if he’s leaving, when he stops mid spin. He looks back over to the Irishman, “Actually, Sean,” he starts and Jack’s stomach drops immediately right when the words come out of the raven-haired man’s mouth.

“Is there any Fireball left?”

* * *

 

Jack shouldn’t say he was enjoying this, he really shouldn’t; but he _was_ enjoying it and there was something about the way his chest felt heavier and how his gut burned that made him enjoy it more. Almost like a constant state of somewhere in between bliss and agony. Jack was aware of how much alcohol he could take. He knew his limits. He’s gotten used to drinking a lot, not in a problematic-alcoholic way, but more in a _being-a-bartender-was-my-life’s-calling_ way. Jack wasn’t a lightweight and he knew it perfectly well.

_Speaking of lightweights._

“Jack… _Hey, Jack,_ ” The Irishman felt another tug at his sleeve for what felt like the hundredth time that night, the thick voice bringing him out of his daze. He looks down from his spot on the bar’s counter with his feet hanging down over the edge to stare at his friend.

“What _is it,_ Mark?” Jack snapped with less annoyance than he was going for, and since _when has Mark been standing in the middle of his legs?_

The raven-haired man looks up, staring back at the other male; narrows his eyes, “Do you ever jus’ realize how beautiful someone is?” Mark asks in a voice thick with the effects of the alcohol, his head tilting –more like falling so fast to one side Jack was almost afraid he would break his neck- and Jack suddenly felt pretty helpless at this point in the night. _“What the fuck is he goin’ on about?”_ Jack has never expected his best friend to say anything like what he just did, out of everything he could have possibly said. He suddenly starts to notice how silent the bar’s gone, their only company being the sound of the neon lights buzzing in the background and illuminating their side of the bar. He catches a glimpse of Aaron passed out on the stage, back against the stripper pole in the middle of it.

“Like,” Jack snaps out of his thoughts again to focus back on the older man, “you look at a person and,” a hiccup, “think ‘bout how _great_ they’ve been t’wards you? Like, you feel like you just don’t _deserve_ ‘em?” As much as Jack wanted to follow what his friend was saying, he just couldn’t help but stare when Mark starts gesturing dramatically and Mark probably not notice how much heat he’s radiating off his body and onto Jack. The brunet chooses to not complain, however. Mark starts talking again,

“They’re you’re sun, moon, and _stars,_ and _–and!_ They’re jus’ so _beautiful,_ Jack, with blue eyes an’ all an’ _really_ great hair like, _God,_ ” Mark huffs somewhat exasperatedly in annoyance and Jack has both of his eyebrows raised now. He isn’t sure if he should stop his friend from continuing or if he should let his curiosity get the better of him.

“I don’t know how to describe it, Jack,” Mark goes and Jack thinks _“well, too late now”_ as the gesturing starts up again, “They’re kind and good-hearted, even when they look like they aren’t. I’ve seen them from afar –I always have. It hurts when people come up to me and say that they’re _not_ all those things I mentioned earlier –too lazy say it all ‘gain- but _really,”_ Jack almost flinches at the sudden weight of emotion that one word held on Mark’s tongue and how his eyes look so pained and broken. The brunet sighs, running a hand through his hair before smiling sadly down at his friend, “What else, Mark?” He asks and Mark lets out a sigh of his own.

“It’s jus’,” Mark’s eyebrows furrow and he breaks the stare him and Jack were holding, his voice breaking down into a mumble, “they’re beautiful an’ they don’t know that.” Mark pulls a face; Jack feels the urge to say sorry – _“but what for? I’m sorry for Mark?”_ \- deep inside his gut and he’s still oblivious to what his friend is saying, but he’s sure as hell that it means a lot to him. Jack has never seen Mark like this, even on his worst days he’s usually quick to shrug it off even when Jack knows it’s chewing at him from the inside. Then again, Jack’s never seen Mark this drunk, either. Sure he’s seen him tipsy and spewing whatever-the-hell nonsense he thinks of out of his mouth; Jack’s been there to see all of that, he’s the one Mark would rely on to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Jack’s the person Mark could count on when he didn’t trust himself, and right now Mark probably stepped over his own boundaries; albeit accidentally.

Jack suddenly feels a warm weight on his stomach and looks down to find his friend’s head resting there and if he wasn’t so concerned for said friend then he would probably be making an inappropriate joke of what it looks like from his perspective. The Irishman hesitantly raises a hand, uses it to run his fingers through Mark’s hair. A sigh escapes Mark and he shakes his head, not lifting his head from its position.

“It’s you, by the way.” Something foreign happens inside Jack’s chest then but his fingers are still moving through thick, smooth hair. He blinks and narrows his eyes; he takes a moment. His brain has turned to static as if his thoughts have lost connection to every single other part of his body, aside from his hand that’s still enjoying its current state of soft euphoria. He hears Mark sniff –although not as if he was crying. There were no tears. He would know if there were tears. Tears were usually Jack’s thing, and Mark _would_ get teary-eyed every now and then but he doesn’t cry because he doesn’t want to, while Jack just lets it happen; that’s why everyone respects him a little more than he’d like to think. Jack never minded crying.

The weight on his stomach increased and the stroking motion of his hand started to do nothing but caress the air. Jack looks down again, sees Mark’s arms limp by his sides and faint sounds that sounded a lot like snoring coming from him. The brunet sighs, but smiles sadly. He thinks about getting off of the counter but soon realizes that he can’t due to his friend’s form weighing him down. He rolls his eyes.

“Mark,” He says, poking the older male’s cheek. More snoring, “ _Mark_ ,” Jack tries again, louder this time. He gently slaps the sleeping man; nothing happens. _“It’s come to this, then.”_ He thinks before he sticks his finger in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit before popping it out and judging if it looks wet enough, he shrugs and sticks the finger in his friend’s ear.

“ _Wha-_ the _fuck?_ Jesus Christ _why would you do that?”_ Mark’s head snaps to the left but luckily for Jack he held his other hand up on that side for the purpose of Mark to slap his head onto it, secretly relishing the sound of his friend whining in pain. The American looks up at him, face scrunched up and one of his hands coming up to rub at his slightly painful cheek. Jack snickers, “You goober, I need to get down.” He grins amusedly at the blush that forms on Mark’s face and the raven-haired man moves –almost hesitantly- away from his place in between Jack’s legs. The Irishman jumps down from the counter top, swaying back and forth due to the alcohol and his legs apparently falling asleep while he was sitting. He reaches out blindly to grasp at Mark’s shoulders to balance himself, blinking then shaking his head to try to focus his blurry vision. When he finally manages to compose himself he looks up to face Mark, hands still on the other’s shoulders.

“Hey.” Jack smiles lopsidedly at him.

“Hi.” Mark smiles as well, but it’s weaker than Jack’s. There’s a hint of sadness in it as well.

Jack rolls his eyes and reaches for the flannel still draped over his friend’s shoulder. Gripping one end he grabs the other end from behind Mark and tugs, successfully bringing the taller of the two closer to him.

“You’re beautiful, too, Mark.” Jack whispers before he tugs Mark in to close the remaining gap between them, Jack moving to meet him in the middle. Mark’s eyes flutter shut and lets himself melt into the kiss, bringing a hand up to cup the other male’s cheek and cradle it in his palm. Jack wasn’t one-hundred percent sure if it was the alcohol but warmth started to bloom somewhere deep inside his chest, spreading everywhere and he grins against Mark’s mouth, deepening the kiss. Mark takes Jack’s bottom lip in between his teeth and the latter whines as Mark backs him into the counter, pressing his body up against Jack’s.

Jack’s the first one to break the kiss, panting lightly against Mark’s lips. He swallows at the sight of Mark at the reddest Jack has ever seen him, but he shouldn’t be one to talk because he himself probably looks much worse. Jack slowly smiles that million-watt smile Mark has let himself fall in love with and he also grins, chuckling before resting their heads together.

 

A groan is heard from somewhere behind them, “About _bloody time!”_

**Author's Note:**

> yes they're going to leave yami in the bar it's okay he's used to it
> 
> aaaaahhh i feel like this is shit, is it shit? i think it's shit, but it's long so hey


End file.
